Thirty-seven years ago in January this year I should have been celebrating my child's birth. To not have this annual celebration as I do with my other children, still leaves a "what if" sort of question. I bless my other children every day and feel so sad for those that have not experienced the joy of a live birth, however, much I love them, they can't replace the bub I lost for this child was expected and loved. When I miscarried at 16 weeks I felt this baby inside of me was a person in its own right and had looked forward to seeing its face; unfortunately I never knew its gender as it had not been formed properly in my body.
I bought a rose bush a few years ago and had a ceremony with my daughters, which I have discussed in a previous blog. I looked at them today and saw that all the flowers on it had died off and was relatively bare. The last rose is dying off now and it saddens me that I have to wait months for it to bloom again, another reminder of the child lost.
I spent some time on the day looking at the rose bush and listened to a song of Enya's: So I Could Find My Way; if you have a chance please listen to it. It can be found on You Tube. It gave me the necessary leave to have a cry, something I often hide or keep inside of me. A lesson for me is that life goes on and it is all a learning experience. This is not to say that is all the experience is, as already stated it.
What amazes me still (and I don't know why I am still surprised) but no-one ever mentions this lost baby, except on occasion my youngest as her partner lost his son at a very young age and he was able to have the baby boy placed at Fawkner cemetery in Melbourne where a lovely memorial garden exists for “lost” children. There was no such thing around and no support either when I miscarried. I was told by a nun, who was a midwife, that it was “God's wish” and when I think of this I still get angry.
Everyone keeps saying I have three children, which again I am lucky I have but I always say I have had four pregnancies, not three! This attitude of those who know this can still upset me at times. After all this time I suppose people forget but I do not!
Sometimes I sit alone on a bench seat outside listening to the breeze and sounds trying to find peace in a world that forgets trauma and grief so easily because it is a way of life for so many, which is sad in itself. Losing a baby is something unique and miscarriage is different from a still born and other loss of a young baby. However, those of us who have been in this situation are united in the fact that we never got to see this person grow up, achieve the milestones expected and also for them to have had the experience of having their own children.
So please those who may read this blog, if you have never been in my situation, be careful of your words, as we still feel the loss even if you don't.
Therese Murphy 0502
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Therese has worked in the field of counselling and community development for over 20 years. She has worked predominantly in the health and welfare field. She has worked in the primary school sector counselling children through a range of loss and grief and traumatic experiences.
Therese has also delivered a number of conference papers on the theme of children’s loss and grief and articles on stress management too. She also worked as a Sessional teacher in the TAFE system and the Private Sector in the Community Services area, including Mental Health Welfare for over 20 years. She is also an experienced Supervisor.
Therese has as a small business conducting Reiki, Inner Child Therapy, Meditation and similar therapies. She is also works as a Group Facilitator and teaches stress management and relaxation techniques within the local community as well as running workshops in the areas of trauma and loss and grief and related areas.
Therese is a published poet and has three children and four delightful grandsons. She enjoys nothing more than a good cup of coffee and the occasional glass of wine or bubbly. She is passionate about climate change and the environment, wanting a clean world for her grandchildren to grow up in and one where any type of violence is not tolerated.